Jerk Turned Miracle
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: 20 years after the end of Fang, my version. Max thinks Fang is a jerk, but he manages to turn the situation into a miracle for both of them. Fax. Fang POV. One-shot though I may write a sequel . R&R!


**JERK TURNED MIRACLE**

**Disclaimer: DO I LOOK LIKE A FAN-KILLER TO YOU? NO? GOOD! (A.k.a. I'm not James Patterson and I don't own Maximum Ride.)**

**Okay, so, I re-read the ending of FANG yesterday, and I decided I was so fnicking mad at James Patterson for making Fang leave Max (Seriously, what was he thinking?) that I had to write a MR fanfic that involved a lot of punching.**

**Iggy: Actually, this is her first MR fic.**

**Me: Iggy, be quiet.**

**Iggy: Hmph. Stop yapping and get to the good stuff!**

**Me: Only if you promise not to steal my hot chocolate.**

**Iggy: Sorry, no can do.**

**Me: *elder swear***

**

* * *

**

_Fang, she forgot about you. Give up,_ exclaimed a tiny, unwanted part of my brain for the two-hundredth time in the last five hours.

_No! She loves me! _the rest of my brain shouted back.

_Oh yeah? When did she tell you that?_

_Um . . . well . . ._

_Exactly my point!_

_But . . . but . . ._

_She probably hooked up with Dylan ages ago. GIVE UP!_

_NEVER! If I don't believe in her, then what's left to believe in?_

Ah, the wonders of inner turmoil and the exquisite self-examination THAT NOBODY FNICKING NEEDS MUCH LESS CARES ABOUT it provides.

Just another normal day in the life of Fang.

Then again, as a great man once said, "Arguing with yourself is normal. It's when you lose the argument that things become strange."

So really, I wasn't completely crazy . . . yet.

Anyway.

I digress.

"She" was Max. Maximum Ride. My best friend. My first and only love. The most beautiful girl on the planet.

The reason I was alive today.

The one who had taught me everything I know.

The first – and last – girl I ever kissed.

The girl I had left behind (self-sacrificing idiot that I was) to protect her and the rest of the flock.

But it had been twenty years.

The world wasn't saved, exactly, but it was in better condition that it had been for a while. My mission had been accomplished. Now I could enjoy life again.

So . . . there I was. On the top of the high, rocky cliff where we had met the hawks.

Waiting.

For Max.

It had been five hours since sunrise.

No sign of her.

Nothing but a few hawks wheeling high above the sun-bleached clouds, enjoying the thermal breezes. I longed to join them, but that would mean abandoning my watch –

_Stop being so sappy and take a little flight! She's not coming, anyway!_

Oh, no. It was inner turmoil time again. I glared at the lucky, carefree hawks who didn't have to worry about the fate of the entire world being in their hands – er – claws as I debated about whether or not to join them, so I forgot to do my ritual 360 for the five minutes that had just passed.

Meaning I didn't look behind me.

Meaning I wasn't listening behind me.

Meaning I nearly jumped ten feet (no wings) when I felt the faster-than-a-speeding-bullet karate-style kick to my behind.

Can we say OW?

I whirled around and was ensnared, like a deer in some careless truck driver's headlights, in the glare of cold, hard, chocolate-brown eyes. The eyes that had inhabited my dreams every night without fail for the past twenty years.

Not that I hadn't seem them in real life in twenty years. Birds of a feather flock together (Haha- get it? Punny, eh? Oh, never mind . . .). But she never saw me. Let's just say invisibility powers are mighty useful from time to time . . .

Thought number one: _OW!_

Thought number two: _What . . . the . . ._

Thought number three: _She came?_

Thought number four: _SHE CAME!_

Thought number five: _Ha! I was right!_

Thought number six: _Wait a second here . . ._

Thought number seven: _She doesn't look happy . . ._

Thought number eight: _Aw, crap._

That was when it hit me.

Literally.

Where it hurts.

Max had kicked me again.

I mean, I had known that even if a miracle occurred and she did come, I didn't expect her to be all lovey-dovey and forgiving. That wasn't the "if life gives you lemons, punch life in the face and demand chocolate chip cookies" Max I knew and loved.

But honestly. No greeting whatsoever.

It was like we hadn't seen each other in twenty years!

Oh . . . wait . . .

At any rate, my (_NO FANG SHE ISN'T YOURS ANYMORE SHE'S DYLAN'S STOP MAKING MORONIC ASSUMPTIONS) _– MY beautiful, clever-as-a-fox, strong, Max continued to beat me up.

I simply stood there and took it.

Even though every part of my body, including some I didn't previously know existed, ached like I had been run over by ten thousand trucks, I didn't cry out in pain. After all, I'm Fang, the emotionless brick wall. Emotionless brick walls don't _feel_ pain.

Plus, I mean, for letting her go . . . jeez. What was I thinking?

Max's skin was tanned to a rick color like beach sand in August. Longer than I remembered it, her golden, red-streaked hair streamed out behind her in waves. She was clad in the usual ripped-torn-bloody-jeans-and-ragged-t-shirt attire of a bird kid on the run, although she made it seem like she was wearing fancy designer clothing. Age had been kind to her – she was taller, but still slim and wrinkle-free. I could see the tips of her tawny, speckled wings on occasion between her punches, kicks, and head butts.

Then, I looked a little closer.

Max really didn't seem all that . . . happy.

There were huge ebony circles under her eyes, her blows were slowly becoming feebler, and – worst of all – her mouth was set in a grim line that looked like it hadn't smiled in a millennium. Tears were leaking from the corners of her beautiful, captivating eyes.

Just then, I noticed what she was screeching at me. Most of her insults were quite inappropriate, some were extremely creative. I won't repeat the majority of them here for the sake of sparing the sanity of anyone who reads this, but one word kept repeating itself.

"Jerk."

"You jerk, how could you leave me?"

"You jerk, do you know what you did?"

"You jerk, I should drop you into a Russian cesspool!"

"You jerk, I should have let you die!"

And, the final straw . . .

"Fang, you jerk, you PROMISED NEVER TO LEAVE ME!"

Oh . . . Max . . .

I was seized by an unconditional desire to take her into my arms, kiss away the tears, kiss away the sorrow, make everything right . . . but those days were over.

No.

They weren't.

I had a new plan. A plan Max-worthy.

After all, Max had always said . . . "Don't fight fair." I wasn't planning on it.

I suddenly backed away and leapt backwards – over the cliff. I kept my wings tucked in tight. The air rushing past me with a roar, I barely head Max's scream of terror.

Huh. Maybe she did love me after all.

The plan was as follows:

Option 1: Max catches me, meaning she does love and want me, and we live happily ever after. Likelihood: 0.01%

Option 2: Max doesn't catch me, and I die, which wouldn't be so bad, because Max is the only thing that makes my life worth living. Likelihood: 99.99%

. . . And I wonder why they call me emo . . .

. . .

. . .

. . . Still falling . . .

. . .

. . .

. . . About then, I started whistling the Jeopardy theme song . . .

. . .

. . .

_THUMP!_

Max had caught me!

She did care!

I spread my wings, grabbed her, and pulled her back to the top of the cliff with me. She punched me in the jaw for the tenth time, but her strength wasn't in it, and tears were pouring down her face.

"You jerk, were you trying to kill yourself? Do you have any idea of how much you mean to me? Fang, how could you? You. Are. Such. A. JERK!"

Wait . . .

I mean a lot to her?

_YES!_

A grin the size of Texas spread across my face.

"God, I love you, Max," I managed to choke out.

She stared at me with dinner-plate eyes, then grabbed me and pressed her lips, tasting of orange and strawberry, onto mine.

Heaven on Earth.

I felt like a starving man getting a pile of bacon all to himself, or a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.

This was the stuff of miracles.

I wrapped my arms around her thin, shaking shoulders and took advantage of our kiss – twenty years' worth of steamy, long, sweet, _perfect_ kisses packed into one – until she finally (with much regret) pulled away.

Gazing into my eyes with absolute sincerity, she whispered almost inaudibly, "I love you too, Fang."

"Thank you," I replied.

"For what?" Max asked, baffled.

"For a miracle. Because every little part of you, from your wingtips to your toes, is a miracle. Put together, you, Maximum Ride, are one huge miracle. But that you love me . . . that's the biggest miracle of all."

God, she was just so pretty when she blushed.

"No, you're wrong." Wait, what? Did that mean she was lying, she didn't love me after all? No, Max wouldn't do that, would she? WOULD SHE?

"That _you _love _me_, Fang . . . that's the biggest miracle."

Oh . . . never mind . . .

Then, she spoke the words I had so longed to hear for twenty endless years.

"Let's go home."

* * *

**Iggy: You are SUCH a sap.**

**Me: So? What's wrong with that?**

**Iggy: … a lot …**

**Me: More wrong than a fifteen-year-old blind bird guy that also enjoys blowing things up being the best cook in his flock?**

**Random other voice: PWND**

**Iggy: SHUDDUP!  
**

**Me: Anyways, no matter whether you loved or hated it, the little button at the bottom of the screen is feeling lonely! It wants to be clicked!**


End file.
